“The wagon goes on, slow, timeless. The red and unhurried miles unroll beneath the steady feet of the mules, beneath the creaking and clanking wheels. The sun stands now high overhead; the shadow of the sunbonnet now falls across her lap. She looks up at the sun. ‘I reckon it’s time to eat,’ she says.”

—Wiliam Faulkner, Light in August, 1932.